Poems Pg 4


POTUS

He talked, and talked, and talked.
No one understood what he said.
Yet they all bowed down to his fraudulence,
Rather than loose their head.

Thing is, he had no ax,
No broadsword he could swing.
The best device was theirs, not his,
And that was the guillotine.

They could put his head on a pole,
In defiance of his flagrant hate.
Instead they cowered in their microchips,
As if to accept their fate.

He kept the masses occupied
Fed them bits of bread.
Distracted them with empty promises
And robbed them as they bled.

They were desperate for a hero,
To materialize from their screen.
But generated heroes are only heroic,
In graphically designed dreams.

He talked, and talked, and talked.
No one understood what he said.
They bowed down to his fraudulence,
Rather than loose their head.

Their guillotine laid draped in cobwebs
As the emperor strutted without clothes.
He lied, and lied, and lied,
As democracy decomposed.



Fools Gold

Oh, how I loved you then.
In the days of fools gold.
My body yearned to touch yours.
My palate hungered to taste yours.
My eyes were blinded by yours.
My soul lusted to mate with yours.
Oh, how I loved you then,
In the days of fools gold.

So I mined my inner sanctum then,
In the days of fools gold.
Searching for a rational value of love.
Chipping into the fateful core of love.
Digging ever deeper into the quarry of love.
Weighing the extracted, raw ore of love.
Oh, how I loved you then,
In the days of fools gold.

No, I was not grounded then,
In the days of fools gold.
I thought that true love was perpetual motion.
I imagined that true love was consensual devotion.
I believed that true love could never be broken.
I was startled to uncover true love caving to erosion.
Oh, how I loved you then,
In the days of fools gold.

Oh, how I loved you then.
In the days of fools gold.
My body yearned to touch yours.
My palate hungered to taste yours.
My eyes were blinded by yours.
My soul lusted to mate with yours.
Oh, how I loved you then,
In the days of fools gold.


The moon shines on the sea at night.
A bright, but borrowed light.
You and I sit on the shore,
And watch as light reflections
Twinkle on the waves.
Borrowed light.
Reflected light.
It is the love light
In your eyes that stays
With me long after night.
All day.
It is your love that lights my way.


When we cross the river
It will be different there.
We will not be the same.
When we cross the river
There will be redemption there
We will shed our soul of shame.

Across the river there
Stands a beacon bright
That guides us to the light.
A carpenter built it there
Upon a cornerstone
To pilot souls home.

Across the river there
Stands a dogwood cross,
An icon for the lost.
The Ascension left it there
To manifest the way,
That we be not led astray.

When we cross the river
There is no turning back,
The helmsman is wearing black.
When we cross the river
We no longer need to fear,
Redemption awaits us there.


Dancing Fools

We danced on the table.
We danced on the floor.
We danced in the hallway.
We danced out the door.
We danced in the street.
We danced in the clouds.
We danced quite alone.
We danced in the crowds.
We danced in the mountains.
We danced on the shore.
We danced until exhausted,
Then we danced some more.
We danced in the moonlight.
We danced all day long.
We danced to the silence.
We danced to our song.
We’re just dancing fools,
I suppose you might say.
But, hey,
We’ll just keep on dancing,
Until we’ve danced away.

 


What Happened to Christmas

What happened to Christmas.   
Where did it go.
The Mass of Christ is fading.
Candles are burning low.
It’s silent in the steeples.
Manger doors are closed.
Wise men wax weary,
Following starlight’s waning glow.
Dollar signs replace Angels.
Christmas has been sold.

What happened to St. Nicholas.
Why is Santa sad.
The holidays have been hijacked
By all we want,
Not what we have.
We’re blinded by the bling.
Christmas lights flash ads.
Dollar signs are ornaments.
Christmas has been sold.

What happened to Christmas.
Where has it gone.
No Carols on street corners.
No Noel in the songs.
Holiday cards are cyber.
Inflated Nativity on the lawn.
Purchases Googled early.
Store sales all night long.
Dollar signs blight the Advent.
Christmas has been sold.

What happened to Christmas.
Where did it go.
The Mass of Christ is fading.
Candles are burning low.
It’s silent in the steeples.
Manger doors are closed.
Wise men wax weary,
Following starlight’s waning glow.
Dollar signs replace Angels.
Christmas has been sold.

 

 

 

 


 


Lonely Town

I arrived at Lonely Town
with a photograph in my hand.
It’s not really a town, rather a state of mind
That permeates a man.
It’s a loneliness that aches in the heart.
Crowded streets where you meet
People much too busy from the very start.
Lives are for sale.
Lives of every imaginable kind.
Electronics vacuum the brain through
The ears and the eyes.
In Lonely Town no one is surprised.
No one sees the sky.
There are faces in the clouds that cry
And nobody wonders why.

I checked into the Hotel Lark,
Just across the avenue from the park
Where faceless folks walk happy dogs that bark
At squirrels. A digital billboard advertised girls.
In Lonely Town people pass each other by.

We once met at The Danube,
A jazz bar with a neon blue note above the door
That flickered on this September night.
I ordered a Campari and soda, tall,
And scanned the room for a glimpse of you.
I switched to several martinis, up and extra dry.
Cigarette smoke was thick with an indigo hue.
The band was playing a sentimental tune.

I showed the bartender the photo of you
He smiled and politely said,
“Yes, as I recall, she drank a Campari and soda, tall.
You are a ghost, my friend, a Deja vu.
You fell out of love here on a bitter night in September.
Don’t you remember?
She left Lonely Town long ago,
Long ago she left your bed.
Long ago, this very night, you leaped from atop the Hotel Lark.
You, sir, are dead.”

I left Lonely Town
with a photograph in my hand.
I was looking for you.
Long ago you left my bed.